In Malta when you recount incidences of terrible customer service you stand a huge chance of being met with too many nodding and sympathizing heads. Whether it is in a restaurant, a shop or from a service provider, we seem to think we stand more of a chance of not getting our money’s worth than getting it no matter that we pay through our teeth for it.

Moreover, I don’t know about you, but from what I can see, the slicker, the more corporate the setup, it seems the worse service we are getting. Some small companies have ‘grown’ extraordinarily (I can never figure out how this happens considering their service is so awful) and they have adopted US- and UK-style practices, forgetting, in the meantime, that they are operating in a country of 450,000 people called Malta.

A few weeks ago I went to Jacap in Attard to get some plain stainless steel frames cut. One of my workmen had very painstakingly drawn them in cardboard and created simple models that Jacap could simply copy. Each cardboard cutout had details written on it such as circumferences, just in case the very obvious visual and physical element was not enough.

From the outside the Jacap showroom is sleek, organised and quite impressive. You can see a series of ultra-glossy staircases, stainless steel balustrades and such other items from the road.

At the desk, three ladies were ‘doing stuff’ at their computer. I stood there for a couple of minutes until one of them acknowledged me and we finally got down to the business of ordering the frames. Isn’t it always so extraordinary that in these situations you, the customer, feel as if you are disturbing?

I explained, in one simple sentence, what they were going to be used for which unleashed a stream of formulaic questions: how thick would the steel have to be, what was I going to be using it for (I had already said, but thought her question an oversight) and so on and so forth until eventually we got down to the price part. It was not cheap but I was in a hurry and I had already been there for the best part of half an hour so I accepted.

Then I asked the obvious question. ‘When will they be ready?’ ‘We’ll call you’ cam the immediate, and practiced, reply. ‘Erm…ok…but you see I’d rather like to have an indication’. ‘We have no idea. It could be the end of next week or maybe the week after that. It depends on a lot of things and some of our staff are on leave’.

I became increasingly agitated and so did they, eventually calling a man who seemed to be the owner who scowled at me, changed the thicknesses so that they could do my frames with another run (which was happening ‘in days’), told me not to call, had his command backed up with that of another woman who was standing next to him and that was it. I left having placed an order of which I had no idea of arrival and with a feeling of impending doom.

Two weeks later, when nobody had called me, I started to chase. I could not find the paper they had given me and this seemed to create much kerfuffle and general angst. They eventually found my order when I insisted they could look it up by date. They had no idea when they were going to deliver and further probing at my end had the girl (who had served me the first time) putting me on hold and the scowly woman answering me instead of her. ‘I really need a date because I’m closing off an entire project’ I told the woman ‘Don’t be so arrogant’ she replied. ‘If you want you can come and take your deposit back’.

Wondrous. How sensitive have we become that a customer asking for a delivery date is construed as ‘arrogance’?

Two days later I picked up my deposit, which was handed over with no problem, along with the models, and drove off to Dragon Forge in the forsaken Crafts Village of Ta’ Qali. For years, the craftsmen have been assured by consecutive governments, always as part of the pre-election blitzes, that this village is going to be organised and their workshops spruced up. Sometimes I am thankful this has not happened yet and pray it never does. They should just leave them in peace, for their own good.

Joseph, who runs the Dragon Forge hut, does not wear snazzy work clothes. I think when I turned up he was in a vest. Their signs are printed in paper and stuck with sellotape to whichever bit of wall can be found. Their logo must be a hundred years old. They do not advertise anywhere except for the Yellow Pages and probably some fuljett tal-festa.

He does not have a computer: in fact I doubt he can use one. He scribbled my one sentence, the one I had given to Jacap, in design format onto the back of a used envelope. This did not worry me one bit as Joseph had done many things for me over the years, including huge and heavy pregnant windows, crafted balustrades and the entire shebang of forged metal and wrought iron which requires so much strength and patience to produce. He never got a single thing wrong and when his guys turn up to install they are always polite and gracious.

It was fortuitous that I discovered that apart from the heavy black metal seen on our traditional houses Dragon Forge also work in stainless steel. In three minutes Joseph had understood exactly what I was talking about, had given me a date without any prompting and told me he’d deliver.

I left the messy, noisy workshop feeling elated, satisfied and absolutely sure that Dragon Forge will not let me down. Sometimes, sleek and chic are exactly what we don’t need; I’ll take a scribbled envelope and a dirty vest any time.